


A Series of Observations on the First Dragonborn

by Nyanshadowforce



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Skyrim AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-14 06:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13584708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanshadowforce/pseuds/Nyanshadowforce
Summary: The documented encounters of the 4th-era Dragonborn, Jessie Reubens, and her experiences with the ancient dragonborn Kongrah, who has since revealed his true name to be Danse. He's a rambunctious, stubborn, curious thing who's sure to keep Jessie's quill busy.





	1. First Entry

**Author's Note:**

> A journal-based series, result of me transitioning from Fallout 4 back to Skyrim. this is an idea I got when I realized that TES's Miraak and Fallout's Paladin Danse have the same voice actor. I'm a sucker for AUs, so I decided to try my hand at one with my Sole Survivor (Jessie) as the Dovahkiin and Danse as the all-powerful Miraak. The entries are based on my adventures with Miraak in-game, as I downloaded a follower mod for him to accompany me.
> 
> Overall, its something small and silly, and something to keep me writing alongside my exploration of Skyrim. I'm not taking it too seriously, so The size of respective entries may vary, as will the continuity as I'm likely to come up with new ideas and details constantly.

_Loredas. 21 of Frostfall, 4E 201_

I'll make this straightforward. Today I recruited Kongrah, the first Dragonborn. also known as Danse. 

How we got there was a complicated matter, a story to be saved for later, or perhaps put in books with words "Dragon" and "Tales" in the title. Or maybe in this journal. But today, we focus on the now, or at least what was the now in the last twenty four hours. 

He has a peculiar way of calling his acquaintances to his aid. Last night, as I rested in my rented-out room of The Retching Netch, I was sent a vision of Kongrah at his temple. It had been too vivid and bright to be a dream. On top of that, it's not quite common to dream when you're only half asleep. It was a message from the first Dragonborn himself; his power of telekinesis to the tired minds of others had never faded, it seems. 

I traveled to his temple the next morning. Its enormous arches, although elegant, stood as a hollow shell of something greater that once was. Not unlike the corpses of dovah surrounding it. A beacon of light rose from the center, signifying the resurrection of the Tree Stone that had been corrupted by the same power which called me there.

When I entered the centrum of the temple's skeleton, a small camp welcomed me. Messy, but functional; a tent with bed rolls had been pushed off to the side to make room for the other accommodations. A blue fire pit with a pot of boiling soup over it, enchanting and alchemy tables, a tanning rack- hell, even an anvil and grindstone. Lord knows where they got it all. Maybe a parting gift from Mora. 

A few of the dragon cultists remained there too, though the most attention I received were nods or stares. Their skull-like, socketless masks remained unremoved from their faces. I felt their gazes on my back as I staggered around the small camp, searching for the one who had called me there. 

It wasn't until I heard the huff of a laugh behind me that I'd found him. I whipped around from the enchanting table to find that he had been leaning against an indention in the Tree Stone. Kongrah been hiding in plain sight, watching me. 

It was the first time I had seen him without his mask. 

Even under the shadows, his skin was sickly pale. It did not glow, as the statement would suggest, but stuck out among the dark craggy formation he leaned against. Strange patterns had been scrawled into his collarbone. The shaking and swirling marks, colored like an ichor of black and green, resembled something in between burns and scars. They barely reached up to his jaw. 

The marks, I suppose, were Mora's true parting gift.

As his mask rested above his head, it wasn’t a moment before he slid it over his face again. I am thankful for the details I’d caught, though I wish I could have witnessed his true appearance just a little while longer. Just under an inch of bronze and cloth, there were answers waiting. How I wonder what other effects four centuries in Mora’s realm could have on a man’s appearance alone? I believe the paleness and ichor scars may only be the beginning. Or is it something I should fear? 

Nonetheless, I have yet to see his face again. After the mask of the eldritch beast fell over his face once more, I received a greeting. 

“Well fought, Dragonborn.” he said. The same words he had given me not long after I bent his will. I found myself without a response, but he knew what I was there for. 

In less than an hour, we set off down the temple steps and toward the settlement of Raven Rock. I’d decided I would test him on his loyalty in power in the form of assisting an old native of Raven Rock, Crescius Caerellius, find the corpse of his great grandfather in the Raven Rock mine and uncover alleged secrets in that the East Empire Company had sought so desperately to cover up. It was these secrets that had resulted in the closing of the mine, and cut business short for the settlement of Raven Rock. 

Doing service for one of the people Danse had indirectly harmed was an apt test to observe his behavior and perhaps change his attitude. Well, if it needed any changing. 

Not long after delving into the depths of the mine, we found that the minders had broken into an ancient nordic ruin. Bloodskal barrow, it was called. 

Frankly, the encounter had gone better than expected. It was fascinating to watch another Dragonborn fight the waves of draugr that we had woken from their slumber. Danse seemed indecisive on which weapon to use, going back and forth between blade and magic. Although, no matter what was used, every enemy was destroyed with acute force. 

I expected hesitation, but it never came. The ruins are as old as Danse himself. He fought the undead corpses of his fellow nords with little mercy- I suppose he was distant from other members of the dragon cult?

His voice remains strong as well. He used a wide range of shouts in close quarter battles, most commonly Frost Breath and Dragon Aspect. These have proven beyond effective, especially the latter. Although, when it comes to the more outsourced shouts, his aim could use work. I should not suddenly find myself covered in flame when I hear “Yol toor shul!” Echoing in ancient halls. 

Considering how often he uses his power of the voice, Danse is a man of few words. Most commands and queries were made in the form of nods or one-word statements. Very often, I felt a gaze on my back. Perhaps I am not the only one trying to understand the Dragonborn at my side? 

Apart from the aim mishap, the adventure had gone… exceedingly well, to say the least. A fair amount of treasure was found, as well as the corpse of the Crescius’s great grandfather. For some reason, the east empire company had blocked off the mine due to the discovery of the ancient nordic ruin in the first place, then simply abandoned it after several miners died to the draugr. Sometimes, I will never understand the people of my homeland. 

Although, considering we ran into a Dragon Priest and a Black Book, maybe they were in the right mind. 

Regarding the dragon priest, Danse also exhibited little hesitation when facing the undead nightmare. Infact, he was reluctant to speak of anything regarding the dragon priest’s past. Zahkriisos was his name. He must have been one of the dragon priests of Solstheim- One that Danse had known. I hope now he rests peacefully, as his mask rests on my shelf. 

We made our escape from Bloodskal barrow after making sure to grab anything valuable in the final chamber, including the Black Book among other things. I personally stopped Danse from making any contact with the artifact. 

Danse and I had entered the mine under the cover of night, but when we emerged, we found the town of Raven Rock stirring in the late morning. Many odd looks were given to us. Mostly to Danse as the mask and outfit grab plenty of attention. 

I entered the house of Crescius to find him resting in an aged chair. He did not rise to greet me, but that was forgiven, as I sat at his level to report the encounters of Bloodskal barrow and the truth of his family that had been covered so long ago. We were paid generously for the discovery. 

When I’d turned around to give Danse his portion of the spoils, however, I saw something unexpected. Danse, unknown to me, had begun stirring the soup boiling over a flame that the old man had left unattended. I assumed he did this for two reasons- Curiosity, and as to prevent the food from burning.

It was an action I had not been expecting, as simple and little as it was. I gave him fifty extra septims for this. Though, I don’t think he noticed. 

It has been a very long and informative day. There is much to be taken note of, and much to be done. Although he speaks little, he seems curious of the world he has returned to. A world that has changed so very much since the last time dragons soared in the skies of Keizaal. But now he is making good word of himself at my side. I later heard whispers of the mine being reopened due to our discovery.

Now, he is asleep, curled over on a bedroll in the annex of this rented room. As I grow weary, I will join him soon. Luckily in a bed of my own. 

Tomorrow is going to be very, very interesting.


	2. Second Entry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I intended this to be a lot sorter, so I ended up splitting it into two parts. Expect entry three to be shorter. Please notify me of any mistakes and errors I may have missed in editing.

_Fredas. 27 of Frostfall, 4E 201_

The last few days have been beyond eventful. Enough so that I’ve forgotten to write down the details in this journal. I can be… forgetful, of these things, especially when excitement and adventure is involved. 

Apparently, Danse is the same way. 

In a matter of days, he has blossomed from an reclusive, quiet lone wolf into a creature of endless curiosity and plethora of words. Mostly the latter. So as long as he’s not exhausted himself, he has plenty to say on any matter, and is beyond eager to use words of power in battle. I’ve become convinced that he may be showing off as well. 

Its no wonder. To him, it’s evident how little I know on terms of dragon shouts. Had it not been for Bend Will, I may as well be powerless compared to him. Although, when it comes to everything else, he needs… Assistance. 

I have learned that when one is stuck in a timeless daedric realm for several centuries with little resources, their bodies become unfamiliar with how to process food, and the mind becomes oblivious about when rest is required. 

Last morndas, I awoke just an hour after bed to the noise of Danse- Well, disgorging himself, to put it lightly. He had barely eaten any dinner, but his body did not seem to care for anything but the matter of getting everything _out_. I stayed with him, patting his back until he dry heaved and then helped him back to bed when everything had become settled. He has refused to speak of the encounter since. 

As for his sleeping habits? They’re broken, but not beyond fixable. His hours of exhaustion and hyperactivity seem to waver from day to day, though just yesterday he nearly collapsed from fatigue in the as he hovered over the alchemy table. At least he’s beginning to understand when his body has reached its limits. 

The last three days in particular have been strikingly eventful, however. On Tirdas, we escorted a man named Tharstan of the Skaal village to explore an ancient nordic ruin called Vahlok’s Tomb. 

Despite so many things to say in the last few days, Danse had suddenly grown silent on the matter of ancient ruins and who exactly Vahlok was. 

Tharstan considered Danse himself to be a historical marvel, and was overjoyed to have him along for the adventure even with his silence. He had as many questions for Danse as the first dragonborn would have for me had we been exploring the city. 

The tomb was an interesting one, though I’ve found that to be true when it comes to almost every nordic ruin I’ve encountered thus far. Even if that number is one I can count on my fingers. 

The main chamber was a large sanctum, a sacrificial pit in the middle and two other sections of the ruin that ran to the left and right, though eventually circled back into the main chamber. 

In the halls, both the left and right, there were two things to be found: Puzzles, word walls, draugr, and two halves of a dragon claw made of pure amethyst. The most important note I wish to detail are the word walls. 

There were many incryptions of dragon language across the ruins, scrawled onto tablets or the aforementioned walls Our guest Tharstan happened to be a master translator of the language. Of course, Danse was too, but he didn’t seem at all eager to read the fine print. 

It was at the first word wall where I had realized why Danse was so reluctant to speak of Vahlok. He grew stiff when Tharstan translated the runes.

“The writing describes a guardian who defeated- Why, Mr. Kongrah, this is about you! It says that you… were defeated. By the guardian.”  
His enthusiasm began to fade. “And that you were a traitor. I mean no disrespect, but is this true?” 

Danse had stiffened. With his arms crossed tightly, he refused to look at Tharstan. One might say that he seemed to be pouting.

“I would be lying if I claimed otherwise.” 

The other wall did not seem to anger him as much as it gave few descriptions of Danse’s defeat. After both halves of the claw were retrieved, our next obstacle was perhaps one of the most anxiety-inducing stunts I’ve ever attempted: crossing a series of magical bridges to the main tomb, each tile disappearing as the next one reappeared, each bridge increasing in speed of disappearance and reappearance. 

I must have looked hilarious scrambling across those bridges. It was one of the few times this week I’ve heard Danse laugh. 

His smile did not last. We reached the hall of stories, and emerged from the puzzle door through several halls and into the main burial chamber. 

Most of the stone floors were lined with pressure panels that spit fire when stepped on. In the center of the chamber was a pool of water, and at the far end was the black coffin of Vahlok resting in front of the final word wall. 

Tharstan began to speak, but his words were cut short as Danse stepped forward into the massive chamber ahead of us. His steps were powerful, and as I looked closer, I saw that his hands had been balled into fists so tightly that there was no doubt his knuckles were white under scaled gloves. 

He took a shaking breath, rolling his shoulders before reaching to remove his mask. It dropped to the floor with a clang, forgotten as he unsheathed his weapons and cloaked himself in the aspect of a dragon. Ethereal horns crowned his head, onyx hair rustling in the aura that surrounded it. 

Then the temple shook with his voice. 

“Alok Nol Praaniil, Vahlok! Zu Daal Wah Grah hi!” 

Tharstan looked at me in horror. With each word, the crypt trembled more violently, fueling our fear of the ceiling’s collapse. Near the word wall a deep cracking was heard.

The coffin of Vahlok burst open, the cover thrown to the side and breaking onto the floor as a maskless dragon priest rose into the air by his chest. Vahlok’s eyes flew open, accompanied by his jaw which unhinged in a shriek. He turned to Danse, who he’d known as Kongrah, and raised his staff before uttering further dragonic curses from his ancient maw. 

“Kongrah! Tahrodiis Dok. Hi grind Zu’u ko qothi? Hi ni Dahmaan Viikiil ahst haali?” 

Danse held his own staff outward,, a green and twisted depiction of a hound at its end, nodding toward his ancient nemesis. “Zu Dahmaan pruzah. Daar sul, Zu fen ofan roti.” 

The dragon priest hovered over the shivering pool of water in the center of the sanctum. He glared at Danse with frighteningly dark eyes. “Oi fen Zu’u.” 

Before I or Tharstan could react, the dragon priests lunged for eachother. Vahlok ignited himself in a storm of whirling flame, and Danse leapt from the stone ledge, shouting words of power that surged him forward to plunge a blade into the Jailer. Vahlok struck him with his staff, knocking him to the side, but was taken down with the dragonborn as the dragon-blooded grabbed his opponent’s own staff. 

Tharstan started for the exit, stopping before he nearly collided with the iron gate that had dropped over it. I grabbed him, kneeling near the gate as dragonborn and dragon priest clashed within the tomb. 

“Perhaps this- Perhaps it was not a good Idea to bring Mr. Kongrah?” he croaked. 

“Ven Gaar nos!” 

We flinched as violent winds whipped through the room. “I don’t know. If they keep at it, this place could end up as _our_ tomb.” 

“What do we do, then? There’s no way out!” 

“We help him. The sooner this fighting is over, the better.” I thrusted my spare ebony sword into his arms, Giving him a brief moment to examine the weapon. Before he could protest, I unsheathed my own malachite blades and charged for the dragon priest. 

Danse had become pinned between the word wall and licking flames that spilled across the floor, roaring and pulsing in a magmatic flow brought about by magic. Vahlok sent a fireball his way, Danse narrowly avoiding direct impact by leaping to the side. 

“Fo krah diin!” the flames dissolved into barricade of icy thorns under the influence of his voice. A particularly large spike appeared from the ground between them and twisted forward, nearly piercing Vahlok as it formed.

I have never seen a detail like it occur with an ice breath attack- Perhaps it was a form of spell manipulation accompanying his thu’um? I have yet to find an answer.

As I ran across the pressure panels as quickly as I could with flames spurting upward behind me, The dragon priest floated back from the abrupt attack. For a moment, I saw that he had been blinded by smaller crystals that had managed to pierce him

I do not know if Danse had positioned the massive ice spike for his own use or planned its use to begin with. Whether or not it was intended, I seized the opportunity. Moving at full speed, I sprinted from the makeshift ice bridge and leapt with a high pitched cry. My poised blades tore through Vahlok’s tattered robes Into his very essence, as a wave of otherworldly heat rushed through the hilts of my swords and into my palms. 

But it did not pierce his body. 

The both of us hit the ledge just above the pool. The snap of vahlok’s spine could be heard, but it only seemed to anger him more than it had weakened him. I raised my head to meet eyes of black that bore deeply into my own as his eyes were force open by will alone. 

Vahlok raised a bony hand in which blue magic sparked from the palm. But before I was stricken, a black blade cut through the wrist, prompting a shriek from the dragon priest and sending the dismembered limb into the water. 

Tharstan held the ebony sword close to himself shamefully as I wriggled from the grasping range of Vahlok. When I looked at him, his expression read as something between deathly afraid and proud. 

However, our celebration was short lived. A surge of power burst from the limb that had been plunged into the water, sending Tharstan and I backward against ancient stone. 

When my vision cleared, I saw Vahlok struggling to rise once more. He spat at the icy ledge where Danse stood, what little left of the skin of his jaws snapping in two as he spoke again. 

“Hin aar los ni kod. Zu deinmaariil, Kongrah. Zu vaat laat hin rel maar nivahriin, ahrk zu fen kron.” 

Danse glared down at his enemy. “Los hi folaas. Daar bok los goraan, Dovahkiin fen alok wah Koraav Oblaan do dovah kinbok. Nid suleyk wah nid Thu’um.”

The dragonborn’s breath came heavily in icy huffs reminiscent of the blizzard he had unleashed on the jailer’s flame magic. His voice sounded different from before, gruff and strained. 

“Dir nu.” 

“NIID!” Vahlok the jailer screamed, lunging into the air after the one he had challenged so long ago. As his ancient body had long decayed, his oath to the dragon masters had become as futile as his attempt to keep it. 

With the mighty shout known as Ice Form, Izz slen nus, Vahlok’s figure suddenly became enveloped in a white vortex. When the flash had cleared, the jailer’s body had become encased in an arc of crystal. His jaw was stretched in a permanent scream of rage, face too coated in ice to be seen, skeletal fingers stretched outward only inches from Danse’s face. 

Danse’s own expression was as hard and cold as the glacier his jailer was frozen within. He suddenly flinched, bringing a hand to his throat and closing his eyes tightly.

Despite his pain, he enacted one last attack on the dragon priest if not to assure his death. His chest rose, and then came familiar words of power. 

“Yol toor shul!” 

The icy statue exploded upon the impact of the thu’um. Danse had not considered the force of flame against frost where he stood, and the dragonborn likewise fell into the water alongside the chunks of corpse and ice he’d stood on. I started for him, as did Tharstan. The old man and I carried him from the water, quickly checking vitals and sighing with equal relief as we found he had simply over exhausted himself. 

Tharstan was extremely thankful for our assistance in the crypt. He payed us all too well, and expressed great excitement over his own assistance in the fight and how thrilled he would be to put the encounter in his book. Not only had he been given the opportunity to witness the details of the ancient nord’s work up close, but he had seen the true power a dragonborn could wield and the end of a rivalry more than four thousand years old. In fact, he had brought about that end himself, now that I think about it. Maybe. It would not have been unlike Danse to search for the tomb and seek revenge on his own. 

With more thought, I realize that this entry has become much longer than intended. I apologise to any of my future readers; I’ve always been fascinated with stories like this, especially great battles. The details are simply irresistible. I will leave the next tale for the next entry. 

But before I sign this off, I will indulge you with a few more details and observations. After all, that’s what this journal is supposed to document. 

After the battle, Danse was completely incapable of speaking for another day. It has come to my conclusion that, although it seems he does not have to wait very long to conjure up his voice after using the thu’um, his throat can be damaged by excessively using the voice with few breaks in between. It is a consequence that I will keep in mind. I suppose it is a consequence of harboring the blood and soul of a dragon in the body of a mortal. 

His voice thankfully recovered after treatments of tea with juniper and honey. That of which I was surprised did not upset his stomach, but it _was_ a light brew. Not to mention he seems to be recovering in many different ways. 

His mask was left off for the remainder of the day. As I observed his details, I could have sworn that the ichor scars had receded somewhat. Though my eyes could be tricking me. I’ll have to investigate further to be sure. 

Enough of my rambling. The inkwell is running low, and Danse is complaining about the light of my lantern. 

Is it strange to say goodnight to the pages of a journal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations! Don't worry, I won't leave you guys hanging. It was super hard and super fun to make these. Though, some of them are rough and not-quite-perfect translations. 
> 
> "Alok Nol Praaniil, Vahlok! Zu Daal Wah Grah hi!" : "Awaken from your rest, Vahlok! I return to battle you!"
> 
> “Kongrah! Tahrodiis Dok. Hi grind Zu’u ko qothi? Hi ni Dahmaan Viikiil ahst haali?” : "Kongrah! traitorous dog. You meet me in my tomb? You don't remember your defeat at my hand?"
> 
> “Zu Dahmaan pruzah. Daar sul, Zu fen ofan roti.” : "I remember well. This time, I will live up to my name."
> 
> “Oi fen Zu’u.” : "As will I"
> 
> “Hin aar los ni kod. Zu deinmaariil, Kongrah. Zu vaat laat hin rel maar nivahriin, ahrk zu fen kron.” : "Your slaves are not useful. I am your guardian, Kongrah. I vowed to end your reign of terrible disloyalty, and I will win"
> 
> “Los hi folaas. Daar bok los goraan, Dovahkiin fen alok wah Koraav Oblaan do dovah kinbok. Nid suleyk wah nid Thu’um.” : "You're wrong. This age is young, the Dragonborn will rise to see the end of our dragon leaders. You are powerless without a voice"
> 
> “Dir nu.” : "Die now."


	3. Third Entry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stories of dunmer politics and poetry happen to be miraculously thrilling and boring at the same time.

_Loredas. 28 of Frostfall, 4E 201_

It is the early morning in Raven Rock. The stars are still visible in the windows of the ash clouds above, and the only residents stirring are dunmer priests making their way to the temple for preparations of worship. 

Danse still sleeps, and its best guessed that he may not wake until the late morning. That’s not a surprise; As stated in the last entry, the few days behind us have been very busy, and I won’t wake him for the sake of myself being an early bird. His voice has yet to complete its recovery, but has improved greatly with the help of the herbal teas as stated before. 

At this point, my future readers must be dying to know what else has taken place. Are you not? Well, the tale will be told regardless. I will continue where I left off. 

On the morning of Middas, the day after the battle with Vahlok, we were approached the second counselor of Raven Rock. Adril Arano is his name. I’d always considered him a sneasly little man until after the ash spawn of fort Frostmoth were defeated at my hand. Only then did he and the other dunmer begin to show me respect. 

This time, instead of coming to gawk and question the red-headed imperial traveler or suggest to her that she leave Raven Rock with her new brooding comrade, he had a request for us. A mission. 

He admitted his suspicions that among the people of this small coastal town, there were few who may have been plotting against the first councilor Morvayn (Leader of Raven Rock), planning his assassination. 

Apparently, there had been long running ties against the councilor and a family in the dunmer house of Hlaalu. There had been en execution years ago of one of their own which had been ordered by Morvayn himself. The Ulen family had not forgotten. 

Our mission then was to find out who exactly would have been plotting against the First Counselor, if at all. Many of the guards had suggested that Adril was merely paranoid when I asked them their thoughts on the matter. All the same, I am not much better. I once wasted more than ten arrows piercing the bodies of deceased draugr in a crypt, assuring they would not rise. It is often better to play safe than sorry, and there was a worthy price waiting for me at the end if I had chosen to help Adril and succeeded. So I did. We did. 

Danse and I had been appointed to The Retching Netch, my bar-and-inn home away from home, as a potential place to start. The bartender in particular was a man of acute interest, particularly on his knowledge of the town’s natives through gossip. 

Geldis smoothly informed us that someone had been leaving offerings in the Ulen family tomb, something that only someone of house Hlaalu would do. He suggested we lie in wait inside the tomb for who exactly was visiting to leave offerings, and they’d be our culprit. 

From here it was a game of fetch. Come to think of it, That’s what most quests of mine have been. Go to the dungeon, get the gold. Go to the mountain, kill the dragon. Go to the bandit camp, retrieve the girl. And this time? Go to the Severin Manor, and find proof of Tilisu Severin’s plot to kill Morvayn. 

That was who had appeared when we decided to wait in the dunmer crypts, after all. The dunmer have a peculiar way of burying their dead. Rather than in coffins, like the nords or imperials, Dark Elf corpses are burned and the ashes are left inside designated family tombs. 

As a result, the tombs are rather… Chalky. Just before we intended to make ourselves known to the Ulen tomb’s visitor, the all-powerful first dragonborn gave away our position with a /sneeze/. 

As detrimental as the unintended action was, the noise happened to be quite… cute. Unlike other nords or perhaps my father, Danse sneezes like a feline. I blessed him accordingly. 

Tilisu was not immediately hostile at our presence, though very suspicious behind an innocent ruse. We departed immediately to seek Adril and inform him of our suspicions regarding Tilisu, where he sent us to the Severin Manor itself to find solid proof of the Severin family’s betrayal. 

Sneaking was always one of my strongsuits; not for any particular reason as one would expect, like to escape their abusive parents or survive on the streets of a capital city. My skill only came to me recently. When skulking through bandit camps or untamed wilds, one wrong step often means death. 

However, elf ears are keen as much as they are pointed. Tilisu and her daughter Mirri were waiting for us the moment we opened the door of the master bedroom. 

I remember so distinctly how they screamed about the “years of wasted plotting” as they charged at us with their daggers poised. Before any blade could touch us, I staggered them with one word of frost breath. We finished them off all too easily as they gasped for breath and violently shivered from the ice shards in their skin. 

The evidence was likewise recovered from a safe in the master bedroom. It revealed our final target; The head of the family, Vendil severin. 

According to the note sent from Vendil himself, he and a force of dunmer who intended to attack Raven Rock were roosting in an abandoned fortress called Ashfallow Citadel. Adril did not hesitate to send us there. According to him, several guards would be waiting there for us to siege the place as well. 

Those several guards were nothing more than corpses by the time we arrived. And by that time as well, Danse began to grow talkative. 

He said that, although the disruption of such a complicated plot was thrilling in its own right, he didn’t understand it. Things were so much less complicated in the rule of the dragons. Challenges were made upfront, and the dragons did not skulk and attack from the shadows like men and mer were often forced to. 

In some ways, I agree. I admit that I grow tired of running my quill to this tale as exciting as it may have been in the moment, when the blood was fresh on my swords. I grow tired because I know there will be more interesting details and stories to tell rather than the drama of dunmer politics. 

Begrudgingly, I’ll return to the story.

We, as dragonborn, happen to be much more aptly skilled than the common guard. We stormed the Citadel with ease, arcs of lightning from Danse’s hands striking soldiers of the Morag Tong, my swords thrusting into their chests if Danse’s magic had not killed them already. 

The traps were no match for us either. We weaved through the pressure panels placed about the halls, not a hair falling on them. 

When we reached the final chamber where Vendil waited, there was a part of me that wanted to make him beg for mercy for nearly destroying the sanctity of Raven Rock and disrupting our day. I’d been planning to introduce Danse to the local Netch population and observe his reaction on this day instead, but no. There just _had_ to be an assassination plot. 

Vendil was struck down with ease. Even as he screamed of revenge for the Hlaalu clan, his mace bounced off the luminous armor of Danse’s dragon aspect like a mallet bounced from a war drum. His cries were cut off by my blade slitting open his throat, as per usual. 

The most peculiar part of this tale happened only after we made our return to Raven Rock. We stood before councilor Morvayn together, my knee bent to the dark elf and Danse standing a pace back with his hands politely held behind his back. 

I was told to stand by Adril. The smile on the dark elf’’s face was one I had never seen before. 

“Adril… I haven’t seen a smile like that on your face in a long time.” 

Apparently, the minds of Councilor Morvayn and I were alike. 

“Councilor, I’m thrilled to Inform you that our visitors have single-handedly dealt with a threat that could have ended your life. Tilisu and Mirri Severin weren't who they appeared to be. I'm afraid they were here to avenge Vilur Ulen's death."

“Vendil? But he’s done so much for us… How could this be possible?” 

As the first and second councilors spoke of the shame that was Vendil and the Morag Tong, I looked back at Danse. Surprisingly, he had taken his mask off once again, hooking the bronze ornament to his belt. The warm glow of nearby lanterns gave light to the beads of sweat on his neck and the blush on his dusted face. 

I jumped when Adril hissed my name. Though, the look on Morvayn’s face showed more amusement than disapproval compared to his partner. The First Councilor looked up from me, however, nodding to Danse. 

“You too, dragonborn. Step up now.” 

His steps were slow, nervous. Danse’s arm nearly brushed against mine as we stood together. 

“Good.” The counselor gave us a warm smile. “What you two have done for me- For all of Raven Rock -Goes far beyond what I would have expected from any traveler in our town. Jessie, is it? For all that you’ve done, you have my deepest gratitude.” 

“Thank you.” Perhaps my voice shook much more than I would have liked it too. In the presence of any great leader, it is difficult not to be nervous. 

My kin was not much better off when the Councilor turned his face to him. “And you. Tell me your name.” 

It was as if I could see the panic bolt up his spine as he stood even straighter, which I hadn’t thought possible. “It’s… Most know me a Kongrah.” 

The Councilor tapped the arm of his chair as he narrowed his eyes at Danse. “It is a name so familiar yet dreamlike to all of Solstheim. Tell me, Kongrah. Were you the one responsible for our dreams, the tranced enslavement of my people? The corruption of the guardian stones, and… The mantra?”

Danse nodded so weakly that most not watching carefully would have missed it. “Yes, sir.” 

A peculiar look flashed in the Morvayn’s eyes with his answer. “What was it now…? ‘And when the world shall listen, and when the world shall see…’” 

The first dragonborn had taken to examining the ground. He did not respond. 

“It’s your mantra, my friend. I only ask that you finish it for me.” 

Danse glanced up quickly, expression fixed in more surprise than anything else before he glanced down again. I am still unsure if he was ashamed or overcome by stage fright. 

Still, after taking a deep breath, he said something quite unexpected to the rest of us. 

“And when the world remembers… That world shall remember _me_.” 

Adril raised a brow. As did I. That wasn’t how it went. His voice, although gruff, was nearly sing-song as he continued.

“The Dovahkiin who never died, The dragon priest who lived… The child with a dragon’s voice, the one who sings again. And so the dragons hear his song, to it they raise their crowns… The dragonborn returned that day, A dovah lost, now found.” 

A Curious silence had fallen over the Morvayn Manor. Adril glanced at me, I glanced at Danse, Danse looked at me and down again, I glanced at Morvayn, and so fourth. Our spell of silence was only interrupted by the quaint clapping of Adril’s wife, listening from the table. 

“Why, that was beautiful! Adril, why didn’t you tell me this man with the mask was a poet?”

Danse’s voice was low. “He isn’t.”

“Unfortunately, I’m going to have to agree with Cindiri. It’s quite a lovely reworking. Better than a world’s end.” Morvayn leaned forward with hands held strongly together. “And it has settled my next decision. Lord Kongrah, all of your crimes against the people of Solstheim and Raven Rock are hereby dismissed in the eyes of house Redoran. With that, you have my honors. I thank you for returning our lives.” He smiled widely. “And helping saving mine.” 

It was the first time I watched Danse smile. Really, truly watched the corners of otherwise chapped lips curve upward and his expression change from nervous and scared to something so lively. As he glanced up nervously yet again, this time a nervousness that came with praise, There was more of a sparkle than a darkness in his eyes. Heat had not left his face either. 

“As for both of you? Giving you a bit of coin for the work you’ve done hardly seems like enough, even though I’m sure Adril has prepared an appropriate reward for you. Despite it, I’d like to provide you something with more… Substantial.” 

Danse and I exchanged a curious look. 

“Since the Severin family will no longer be occupying their home at the edge of town, or- well, or returning to take their belongings, The property is now forfeit. As councilor, I reward you and Lord Kongrah with the Severin manor and everything that lies within. The both of you have earned your citizenship here. I hope you’ll consider staying with us as a member of our community.” 

“And,” Adril added on, “Now that ‘Severin’ Isn’t quite a fitting name for the manor anymore, the two of you are free to grant a new title to the property. All it would take is some paperwork. If you want to, pitching an idea now wouldn’t be of poor interest.” 

I stood up, looking to the side at my kin. Our eyes met for the thousandth time, but the look we exchanged then was different. It was one most people shared only with those they’d known for years. A look of knowing, a look of minds in sync. 

At the same time we each said something that ended in “Dovahkiin Manor.”

Of course, Danse made me do the paperwork while he left far too excitedly to explore our new base of operations in full. It was forgiven; Patterns of writing have changed very much over the years he’s been gone. I’m unsure of how literate he is in today’s writing. I’ll investigate later. 

After the paperwork was finished off, I left the Morvayn manor only for Adril to call me back to him by the time I was halfway down the street. He’d forgotten to tell me that a letter from the mainland had come in for me with the last shipment of goods. 

I leaned against the rock wall of the bulwark and examined the note. It was expensive looking, patterned on the edges and closed with the wax seal of the imperial dragon. It slipped open smoothly. For a letter so beautifully crafted, so few words waited for me inside; 

“The horn blows to your battles, dragonborn. Listen to it. 

Follow the wind’s call.

A friend” 

Mysterious, poetic words. Perhaps you can never have enough of poetry, but I’ve heard very much of it lately. Songs, verses, and riddles. Its perplexing how common these things are in the history of the nords, but understandable. After all, the thu’um is language in itself. Beautiful and terrifying things can be made of it. 

Only when I returned to the manor and examined the note over dinner did I understand the intention of the words contained within. 

I had yet to retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller. 

A mission that the greybeards sent me on as a final test of my abilities. A mission they’d sent me on _weeks_ ago. So caught up in the challenge of another dragonborn, I had forgotten the world outside of Solstheim. 

I feel guilty leaving so soon after accepting the first Councilor’s gift, but time is not an ally. I have already decided Danse and I must return to Skyrim.  
I am not sure how long it has been since he has seen the lands of “Kaizaal”, he calls it. I just hope it won’t upset him to leave. 

Time has passed in the day as I have written, and Danse has found himself roused enough to ask me about making breakfast. Why he can’t do it himself is something I’m partially unsure of, But it doesn’t matter much if I’m going to be making food for myself. All I hope is that his insides don’t have a poor reaction this time. 

After we eat, I’ll tell him we must leave. Maybe then if he agrees, we can begin packing.


End file.
